Last call 2008...

PHOTOS BY JAMES HALL

Here's the result of all that imbibed research of the past couple weeks I shared with my friend/illustrious award-winning writer/co-worker Matt... "Here comes a regular, there stands the glass: The Pacific Sun's Marin bar roundup--reflections in our bloodshot eyes"

During the course of our research, whenever somebody, be it a friend or stranger, would find out about the subject of the article we were working on--namely, the summation of all dives, pubs and wine bars (sans restaurant or hotel-connections) in Marin--they would snicker or heartily chuckle (guffaw, even) and say, haughtily, "Wow, that's a tough assignment! What a hard job you have." At which point, it's polite writerly conduct to merely smile weakly and stare at your half-empty glass, continuing to fill your precariously perched pad-on-knee with more arbitrary notes about whatever drinkery you happen to be in, and searching the annals of your stressed cerebrum for yet another euphemism to describe this particular "dingy hole" and its weathered, weary and most decidedly inebriated inhabitants.

And while I recognize and am perpetually grateful for the sheer notion of having a full-time writer gig, and one that takes me to the most, er, interesting places...is it truly the non-stop party people suppose it to be?

Okay, sometimes it is.

High expectations...

Here's my medical marijuana story...(anybody recognize the "anonymous" person holding their I.D. card in the photo?)

It was one of those stories that I'd really wanted to do well, for obvious reasons--my dearest friends Thespian and Elan have been fighting the good fight in the East Bay med-cannabis movement for awhile now, and have included me in so much of their organization's events, introducing me to the prominent people involved, etc. And, knowing this, my kindly editor gave me plenty of time to work on the piece. So I approached it (I thought) methodically, accumulating pages of notes, stacks of reference material, hours of speeches and interviews, and several documentaries on the subject. But then, as it became closer to the time I should actually roll up my sleeves and get to the writing, I put it off and put it off, somewhat overwhelmed by the mass of info and the pressure of my, ultimately, ever-so-high (pun not intended but appreciated anyway) expectations.

But when it came down to the very LAST few days I could work on it, I got really sick--partially from sharing a vehicle with someone who didn't know he was ill, but more likely exacerbated by the stress of having to undertake such a project with little time and a whole lotta self-imposed pressure. And I did that whole writerly mental-sadomasochistic bit, torturing myself with doubt and worry. I seriously didn't think I could pull it off; wondered if I was even cut out for writing at all.

And how long have I been doing this? Six years is not that long in the big scheme of things, but certainly long enough to know that I will get it done, and it will be fine, and maybe a few people will read it, and then it will be quickly forgotten and it's on to the next deadline.

Walking through a winter wonderland... in Tahoe!

Gave a ride to a platonic writer friend last weekend over to South Lake Tahoe, right on the California/Nevada stateline. He, being of the moderately successful adult SF writer-type--and a committed bachelor--has a condo timeshare that he utilizes one week out of the year to recharge.

It'd just snowed the day before and the lifts had just opened--I found this out by listening to a couple of ski bums (snowboard bums just doesn't have quite the same ring, does it?) at the first bar we visited. "You're so observant," said Matt, as he perused the drink menu. I didn't tell him it was a skill I'd acquired over many, MANY diligent years of research on Maui. At this point, I was still hoping to impress with my piercing intellect and cultured sophistication.

"Ooo, hot cocoa with peppermint schnapps!" I exclaimed, clapping. He looked at me, with notsomuch reverence as bemusement.

I get that a lot.

Later we trekked around the casinos, checking out the glitz and the grits of gambling...Matt even placed a few bets on a roulette table, winning $70 before calling it quits. At one point, as I stood behind him watching, a slightly inebriated but attractive older fellow walked up to me, gesturing to a wad of cash. "Will you place this for me?" he asked, sheepishly. Confused, I looked at Matt. "Oh, you're with him--sorry," said the guy. And I walked away with Matt, wondering if I was just confused for Lady Luck...or possibly, a hooker.

I get that a little less.

(The bottom four photos are of these very cool lighting fixtures at the stylish Montbleu Resort Casino)